


Releases

by yeaka



Series: Lions [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 22:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21088583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Nyx’s suppressants give out.





	Releases

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressOfLions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfLions/gifts).

> A/N: For MistressofLions for a donation to the African Wildlife Foundation.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s been on suppressants for so long that he’s completely forgotten his cycle. There was a time when he knew exactly when it was coming, because he’d be filled with dread and apprehension, because heats utterly _undid_ him. He was large, even before becoming a glaive, built more like an alpha than his fellow omegas, too much for either kind to handle. He’d tear up his whole house in the throes of heat, always more pain than pleasure. But Lucis has suppressants at every corner store. He doesn’t need a prescription to get them. He downs enough that the symptoms dissipate completely, until most think he’s just a beta. 

In the last few months, it hasn’t worked as well as it should. Nyx knows he should probably see a doctor—his job covers health care, and hormones are important, but he keeps brushing it off because he doesn’t _want_ to face those problems. He doesn’t even want to think there’s a possibility of something wrong. He’s heard, once or twice, that taking too high a dose can lead to an immunity to medication, something Nyx can’t afford to have. It might be too late now.

He’s driving home from work when the symptoms start creeping in. His hands grow sweaty around the steering wheel, his vision blurring around the edges. There’s a ringing in his ears, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, blood racing quicker than it should. He parts his legs and spreads them wider, feeling the instinct to keep them open—to usher some handsome alpha in-between them. He winces and doesn’t look down, but he doesn’t have to. He knows he’s hard. He licks his lips and forces himself to concentrate. He at least has to make it home. 

He needs to clear his head, swallow as many pills as he can stand, and fall blessedly unconscious. He can’t afford to think. Every time he gets hard lately, even outside of heat, he thinks of the same thing. His mind casts back to the greatest honour of his life: being ushered in to meet the king. 

It was absolutely exquisite. Nyx takes a laboured breath and feels like he can still smell the elaborate pasta dish adorning the grand table. Regis had bid him to sit, and they’d shared a meal, Nyx stoic and silent but Regis full of praise. Nyx was a hero, a few other glaives had said. His commander spoke very highly of him. Regis wanted to extend his personal gratitude, and Nyx had bowed and declared himself unworthy. 

Regis had been so _warm_, so surprisingly personable—a real man instead of an intangible figurehead, charming and skilled at undoing all of Nyx’s defenses. Regis had wine served after the meal, and Nyx’s tongue gradually loosened, until the two of them where laughing and chatting like Nyx might’ve done with Crowe or Libertus. But they’re both betas, and Regis is an alpha that had smelled like pure _sex_ to Nyx—no amount of suppressants could dull his senses enough to miss that. He’d been drawn into Regis’ intoxicating web. They’d drifted up to the king’s quarters, and Nyx didn’t leave until the morning. 

And that was supposed to be a one-time thing, highly inappropriate, never brought up again. So he tries not to think of it. But times like this, his body craves his king’s touch like nothing else, and Nyx almost works himself up into a trance. More pills won’t be able to save him. He knows he needs an alpha, and there’s only one he’s ever wanted.

He never thought he’d want any one at all. He was perfectly content to live his life alone. He has more important things to do than selfish pleasure. He has a _duty_, and he’d give his life for that. He doesn’t want to have anything to live for. 

A moan tumbles out of his throne, low and desperate. Nyx’s skin prickles with want. He grits his teeth and wants to shut his eyes—an alpha’s phantom touch is all over him. One specific alpha’s.

He’s in no condition to drive. He uses his last shreds of focus to pull off the road and into the nearest parking lot. He isn’t asked for his ID going in, because his face is known, and he realizes too late that he’s pulled up to the Citadel. 

Nyx lets go of the wheel. As soon as his car’s parked, he slumps back in his seat, head tossing back and hands balling into fists against his thighs. He needs a moment to breathe. Then he’ll have to call a cab. But he won’t leave the car until he has the self-control to do that—he won’t inflict this cloud of feral pheromones on anyone. 

Most of all, he won’t go in the Citadel. He won’t trouble his king. He can’t do that again. But his shaking hands move of their own accord, and suddenly his cell phone’s out and he’s dialing the private number that he should never have been given. He’s never called it before. The line rings twice, then someone answers. 

Regis’ deep voice greets, _“Hello.”_

Nyx sucks in a breath, then asks, “Can I come up and see you?”


End file.
